The campus, not growing up higgeldy-piggeldy, like a proper city. The campus, just planned and executed . Carried out, all at once. Lifted out of nothing. Someone, some organisational manager said, Let there be a campus. And there was.
Public spaces with no public.
There will be, once it’s finished. Once the entertainment zone draws people in.
Where’s the Old Testament God when you need him? The one who smites. Who rained stuff down on Sodom.
And Gomorrah. Don’t forget Gomorrah.
That was real, you know: the destruction of Sodom. It was some meteor, smashing down. Or some asteroid. Or whatever they’re called.
How do we, like, summon a meteor. Any meteor-whisperers among us? Oy, death from the sky! Oy, fire and brimstone! You’re overdue!
A comedy club, for things that are officially funny. Funny without infringing hate speech laws.
No anarchy of laughter. No spreading fire of joy.
Laugh-a-long technocracy. Permitted jokes. About permitted things. For the technocrats to laugh at. Somewhere for technocrats to go, after bowling. After cocktails. Or mocktails. Or whatever it is technocrats drink. The perfect start to a technocrats’ night out …
Work in Progress 